The Psychic and Her Replicas
by Tobias Corvinus
Summary: A powerful young psychic girl, a group of rogue Replica clones, and lots of fear. Except the young girl isn't Alma, and the rogue clones aren't Fettel's. Takes place a few years before F.E.A.R.
1. Meet the A Team

_It was a beautiful summer day. The sun shined down on a meadow of emerald green grass. Puffy white clouds drifted slowly across a baby-blue sky. The leaves on the tree rustled teasingly and somewhere a brook was bubbling to itself. The little girl sighed and leaned back on the grassy ground. The sun was warm on her face and the scent of wildflowers filled the air. She dipped her toes into the gurgling brook and giggled at the wet sensation. Something in the brook caught her eye and the girl crawled to her knees and stared down She put a little hand in the water and curled it around a large river-stone. _

_The little girl pulled it out of the river and stared at its lustrous blue surface, so smooth, so perfect. _

"_It's a dream." _

_She turned her head around and stared at the man. _

"_It's a dream," he said, "and that's not a river-stone."_

_The little girl looked back at her catch. _

_A bloodied skull stared up from her hand. _

_

* * *

_

"Her REM just spiked."

"That's the third singularity today, mark it and note it."

The lab tech nodded and punched in some commands. The man in a business suit surveyed the young girl strapped in the metal chair. Wires attached to her body led to strange machines that buzzed quietly in the background. He had a visitor tag attached to his coat lapel and four guards around him. "REM spike?"

The attractive young woman in a more relaxed suit smiled reassuringly, "It's one of the indicators of telepathic activity. When Subject 26 is asleep, the Science Department is able to use equipment to monitor her brain waves and embed mental conditioning."

"Why?"

It was one of the lab geeks who answered this one, "Unconditioned telepaths are a bit like nitro. Very powerful and very unstable. The mental conditioning allows us to mold Subject 26. We give her rules, she can't do that, she can't do this. We place safeties on her so she won't fly loose and go psycho, as well as structuring her mind to obey the orders of whoever owns her."

The man nodded thoughtfully, cold eyes mulling it over. "Are these permanent?"

"Nothing's ever truly permanent," the head geek admitted, "But you can build layer upon layer of conditioning, each layer increases the integrity of the layer before it exponentially. It normally takes about five sessions to lay the groundwork of a reliable conditioning; this is Subject 26's twenty-sixth session, sort of a special occasion if you know what I mean."

"Special occasion?"

The young woman leaned forward, "I'll be honest with you Mr. Paahl, most of our candidates don't survive their fourth session. The fact that Subject 26 has done so is well, exceptional."

The man nodded and stared at the little girl, "What do you plan to do to her?"

"Well, if we can get her to session thirty, at that point she'll be our go-to baby. We'll collect DNA samples and send them to a cloning facility specially engineered to support telepathic embryos. With any luck, we'll have cloned telepathic commanders to command our newest variant of Replica soldiers by the end of next year. See the Replica soldiers are sort of like biological robots. They have conditioning that lets them obey voice orders but telepathic commands are much more effective, in fact-"

"I'm well aware of your Replica soldiers," Mr. Paahl interrupted brusquely, "That's why I'm spending well earned money here instead of at some hack-job plant in China."

"Of course sir, I meant no offense."

Mr. Paahl nodded. "What you're doing here…is it legal?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Is it legal? Did her guardians sign some sort of release or something similar?" He smiled coldly, "If I'm going to invest a small fortune in your company, I want to be sure I won't be waking up to lawsuits in the morning."

"Mr. Paahl," the woman smiled teasingly, "Armacham is a law abiding corporation, everything we do here is legal down to its very technicalities."

"As long as it stays that way." Mr. Paahl muttered, "As a woman," he said suddenly, "Do you feel any guilt?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well I'm given to understand females possess some misguided sense of maternal instincts so I'm curious: do you feel any pity when you stare at the little girl you've condemned to be a product for the rest of her life?"

The woman frowned, "I don't see how that's relevant to our-"

_Boom._

The door leading into the lab blew off its hinges. Lab techs yelped and the guards stumbled. Two men in dark colored combat suits and helmets burst in through the smoke. They leveled compact RPL submachine guns at the disorientated guards and opened fire. Blood splattered the walls. Then in unison, the two men turned their guns on the lab techs.

"Wait-don't!"

The rest of their pleas were drowned out in the thunder of bullets.

The woman gasped and turned towards Mr. Paahl. Something sharp drove through the flesh beneath her left breast and into her heart. Strong hands caught her and held her still as blood seeped from her mouth.

"My question was relevant because I was wondering whether to let you live out of respect to someone much better than you. But I think she'll forgive me for this." Mr. Paahl wrenched the combat knife out of the woman's chest and let her dying body collapse to the ground. He wiped the bloodied knife on his well-tailored suit.

"What took you so long?"

One of the men took off his helmet, revealing a face identical to Mr. Paahl's, "Sorry Alpha One, Alpha Three underestimated the facility's security."

The third man took off his helmet, he too had Mr. Paahl's face, "The security here is a joke…Alpha Two slowed me down."

Alpha One shook his head, "You two are both a waste of good genes."

"Relax One," Two unslung a duffel bag and slid it towards him, "Look, a change of clothes."

One unzipped the bag and pulled out a combat suit identical to his brothers, "Thanks, I was feeling naked with just the concealed Kevlar." He quickly suited up, "Alright, buckets on."

Together all three clones sealed their helmets over their heads, and then they turned and walked towards the little girl.

Alpha One knelt in the pool of blood around her small body and gently grasped her shoulders. "Ma'am, can you hear me? We're going to get you out of here."

The little girl stared at him with sightless green eyes.

"She's in Nightmare Land." Three muttered, "always did hate those conditionings myself."

"Three you couldn't even feel hate until a year ago," Two griped, "You didn't care about those sessions because you were a meat-can."

"And you weren't, brother?"

"Both of you can it!" One hissed-

"Al?"

All three Replica clones stared at the girl. She frowned at them blearily, and then her eyes went blank again.

"Congratulations Al," Two quipped, "Your buckish charm brought her around for a second."

"We need to get her out of here." One said.

"Maybe we should have kept one of the brain-techs alive," Three muttered as he moved towards the equipment, "Because I don't know what half this stuff does. For all I know-"

One ripped a handful of wires out of the girl's body. Blood seeped out of small holes and sparks flew. She shuddered once and then she settled back into whatever twilight she was trapped in.

"-this is the only thing keeping her alive." Three finished.

"Sorry Ma'am," One apologized to the comatose girl, "But we need to get you out of here fast." The clone gently scooped her up in his arms, "Two, take point, Three, watch our six."

His fellow clones closed in around him and the three quickly moved down a dark corridor. With one hand still holding the girl, One activated his helmet's COM system, "Four, how's our evac?"

"Secured a transport," a voice crackled over the other end, "ran into a bit of a hitch though…the pilot didn't make it."

"Explain."

"The pilot pulled a gun on me, Five shot him."

"Sorry One," Five's voice drifted over the radio, "Reflex."

"Can you fly it, Four?"

"Theoretically."

"That's not reassuring."

"I read the manual...once."

"We are so dead." Two muttered. The three came to a sealed door.

"Four, just get it airborne, Three I need a demo on this door."

"Watch my back, Two." Three muttered as he knelt in front of the door. "Green wire connects to R5, place the Red on R2… Blue to R6"

"I hate it when he starts talking to himself while handling high-yield explosives," Two muttered, staring down his gun-sights at the deserted hallway.

"…and yellow to the C4 taped under Two's bed." Three finished.

"You'd better be joking-"

"Fire in the hole!"

One shielded the little girl's body and Three thumbed the detonator.

A muffled bang, no louder than the sound of someone dropping a book to the floor, and a small metal plate clanked to the floor. The explosives cut through the steel lock of the door like wire through cheese.

"Now if only I'd slipped in some potassium chloride." Three murmured, "Much better fireworks show."

Alarms began to ring. Red lights flashed and sirens wailed. Two turned towards his clone comrades.

"Call it a hunch, but I think ATC Security has uncovered our presence."

Four ATC guards in blue tac-vests and military caps came skidding around the corner.

"You there, stop!"

Two answered them with a burst from the submachine gun. The bullets danced off steel walls, forcing the guards to retreat back around the corner. The three clones retreated down the opened door. The guards returned fire, but their aim was wild and inaccurate. For his part, Two calmly backpedaled through the door, firing short bursts from the gun as he covered his brothers. One pressed the girl's body tightly against his chest and turned to Three.

"Three…the diversion?"

Three nodded and pulled out a small detonator, "Going dark in five."

At five his finger pressed down on the trigger. There was a muted rumble and then the lights died and the sirens muted. One's visor went to night-vision; his entire world became shades of green.

"We've got two minutes before their back-up generators kick in." Three stated.

"Hey, bet they don't know we can see in the dark." Two whispered over his radio.

A second later he fired into the dark hallway. A body collapsed to the ground.

"They do now." One answered, "Alright, we got less than two minutes to bang out of here, lets move it." Together, the three clones raced down the hallway. They broke into the fire-escape stairwell and clattered up the stairs. Then it was another short dash through a blacked out office and suddenly they were outside on the roof of the facility.

"Three?"

"Thirty seconds."

"Two, pop flare."

Two pulled out what looked like an oversized revolver and pointed it up in the air. There was a crack of gunpowder and a blood-red light leaped out of the barrel and erupted into a blinding red haze in the air. A familiar noise began to grow in One's ears, a _whump-whump-whump _of blades slicing through air.

Four's voice crackled in his ear, "Gentlemen, your chariot has arrived." The blocky armored form of a Hind-D gunship slowly hovered to the ground. The bay door slid open and One found himself in a sobering close-up of a TG-2A mounted minigun. Five waved from the gunner's seat and jabbed his thumb backwards, the meaning clear.

_Get your asses on board._

And then bullets sparked off the gunship's hull. Two and Three dropped into crouches on either side of the open door and returned fire as ATC Security teams poured out of the facility. Needing no further prompting, One leaped aboard with his precious cargo. Three followed him and then Two. As Two clambered into the bay, a stray bullet struck him in the shoulder. He let out a short yelp, the bullet knocked him off balance and he teetered backwards and then Three had him by the collar and pulled him in.

Then Five opened up with the minigun.

The TG-2A is not a very accurate weapon.

However, when one is firing a thousand rounds a minute, accuracy really doesn't matter. A stream of lead poured out of the rotating barrels as Five liberally hosed the opposition. Then the Hind lifted away and the sounds of dying men faded into the background.

"Four?" One asked, "Any sign of pursuit?"

"Well, normally this facility has four fully fueled and armed Hind-D gunships. However, I figure right about now they're experiencing technical difficulties…the iditots really shouldn't have them right next to each other, makes it so much easier to sabotage and steal." His featureless helmet swiveled towards One, "We got away clean."

"Clean? You call this clean?" Two jabbed a finger at his shoulder wound that Three was trying to bandage. Three growled and slapped the offending appendage away. He wrapped the bandage around the wound and yanked it tight, ignoring Two's yelp.

"Quit your whining, I've seen worse paper-cuts."

The TG-2A finally fell silent. Five sighed in disappointment and reluctantly removed his hands from the firing studs. "Well it was fun while it lasted." He muttered.

"At least the hard part's over," Three said cheerfully, "We got the girl and we got to clean some house in the process."

One stared at the young girl's vacant face. He waved his hand in front of her eyes, but the comatose girl didn't stir.

"No Three, the hard part's just started."

_A/N: I had to get this out my system. This is the first chapter of what should hopefully be a good story, but don't expect any immediate updates. Right now I have three different stories that people are wanting me to update and I really do need to update those. The opening scene was inspired by Serenity, in case you haven't seen it, I recommend you do. _

_A/N: Did some minor revisions and tweakings of this chapter_


	2. The Slaughter House

_From: Mme_ATC_

_To: PrezET#1_ATC_

_Subject: Nothing wrong with making a little money_

_Yes we're under a contract to develop a Replica army for the U.S. DOD…but have you seen these figures? The money these people are offering for Replica soldiers is insane. I'm not saying we put the Replicas on the public market, but say we start offering sales to a select clientele of individuals. The potential income this is offering us is crazy to say the least._

_-memo from Vice CEO Genevieve Aristide to Armacham President Edward Thomas discussing the selling of genetically engineered soldiers to a select list of wealthy clients, including suspected drug lords and dictators, dated January, 2018._

* * *

**October 26, 2018**

**Project Harbinger Facility**

"These are the Replicas?"

"Impressive, aren't they?"

The two men in rich designer suits nursed shot glasses of fine brandy. They stood in an observation booth erected over the "Testing Grounds" and politely watched the men dying below them.

A small mock-up of a busy metropolitan downtown had been constructed in the arena. Now two opposing forces fought for control of it. Replica soldiers carried out maneuvers and fired lethal ordinance at their brothers, all to determine who performed better. Blood splashed on the pristine walls and streets, casings clattered to the ground, bullets ripped through thin cover and gunfire filled the air, and the soldiers never made a word.

They fought silently; they ran silently, they died without a word, toy soldiers of living flesh and blood dying for the amusement of their masters.

A Replica soldier lobbed a grenade into a burnt-out coffee-shop. Seconds later, bloodied pieces of flesh came flying out of the store with an explosive bang. One of the men grimaced at the gore.

"Well I'll admit this is a most amusing display, but it seems a bit excessive, throwing away elite soldiers like that."

"Mr. Grayson," the other man smiled congenially flashing million dollar teeth, "We take the quality of our products very seriously. Training sims and exercises are all well and good but if you want to test the real mettle of units like these, you've got to place them where the bullets are flying and the blood is real." He raised an eyebrow, "Besides, this is much more humane. We aren't using actual human soldiers to test these, much as some on the Board may wish, we are using a product grown from an Armacham owned cloning vat in an Armacham owned factory. Trust me when I say there is nothing excessive going on here."

The firefight finally died down. Of the forty Replica troopers that had entered the arena, only twenty were left. The victory had been completely one-sided. Mr. Grayson leaned forward to study the display, "Which ones are these?"

The other man smirked, "Ah, these would be our pride and joy. Currently we have six variations of Replica soldiers available on the market. Alpha Team, the units you see down there, well, consider them Variant Six point five. With a few minor tweaks, their genome template may very well become Variant Seven." He paused for a moment,

"Of course, they're still in Beta-testing."

He leaned over and pressed an intercom, "Increase the training session to Level Ten, Run the Mechanized Assault scenario."

Water suddenly sprayed from sprinklers set above the arena, simulating a full fledged rain storm. The Replicas reacted immediately, grouping together in a defensive formation. They scanned the area cautiously, waiting for their new foe.

"Mechanized Assault?"

Doors slid open, and out of them stomped six of what looked for all the world like large robots. They stood about ten feet tall, all bulky servos and mechanical limbs. The arms ended in .50 caliber chain guns and a pair of bulky HMOD rocket launchers had been incorporated into shoulder mounted launchers. An egg shaped cockpit nestled into the middle of it all, protecting the actual driver.

"The Replica REV5, a mechanical exoskeleton with enough firepower to take down an M1 Abrams."

The power armor units opened fire immediately. Heavy caliber chain guns thundered and rockets meant for penetrating tank armor hissed through the air. The Replica soldiers reacted just as quick. The dense formation split open like water spilling across a surface, the soldiers reacting and moving with an inherent cohesion, like each one was a single appendage of a massive, multi-limbed beast. Still, some weren't fast enough to escape the blast of the exploding rockets, two life-signs flat-lined on the monitor. And then the rest of the Replicas disappeared into the wreckage of the city block. The REV5s advanced into the ruins. Suddenly small arms fire from multiple directions erupted. The rounds clattered uselessly on the armored hulls and the power armor units returned fire.

Another heart stopped beating on the monitor and the firing immediately stopped.

"What's going on?" Mr. Grayson asked.

"The Alphas have just been placed in an impossible situation. They have no heavy ordinance, visibility is almost nil in the simulated monsoon, and they've lost three men already." The presenter paused, "And now, they're going to figure out a way to win."

* * *

**REV5 Suit Operator Bravo 422**

"Bravo 422, report, over."

The Replica driver activated his radio, "Bravo 422, lost visual of hostiles, over."

"Copy, Bravo 422, follow Search Pattern Delta, over."

"Copy, Bravo 422 engaging in Search Pattern Delta, over."

He turned his head and arms. The suit, coordinated to his body motion, responded, shifting servos and lifting reinforced feet. He walked down a city street, through the HUD of the power armor; he surveyed the war-torn landscape with thermal vision. A heat blob suddenly appeared behind a crashed SUV, small caliber rounds began ricocheting off the armored cockpit.

"Bravo 422, reporting hard contact with enemy forces, over."

"Copy Bravo 422, engage, Bravo 483 is en-route."

Bravo 422 armed the chain-guns but the heat blob was already moving, ducking and weaving across a light spectrum of hot and cool objects. The Replica driver opened up with the chain guns and chased after him, the unwieldy gait of the power armor was surprisingly fast.

The heat blob vanished.

"Bravo 422 to Overlord, lost contact, repeat, lost contact, over."

"Copy Bravo 422, hold position, Bravo 483 is en-route, over."

"Copy Overlord, holding position." He keyed off the mike and then-

_Thud._

A body fell on the armored cockpit; someone was on top of him. There was a skitter of boots on metal, he activated the external cameras. An Alpha clone was on top of the armored hull, wedging something on the surface. The clone leaped off the hull, giving him a clear image of the shock grenade wedged into the gap between the shoulder servo and the cockpit.

_Oh._

The grenade detonated. Arcs of electricity coursed through the metal suit, warnings and alarms shrilled in his ears.

**Manual Release activated.**

The cockpit started to hiss open, Bravo 422 struggled for the pistol on his holster, his arm snagged against the driver's harness.

Fingers tantalizingly brushed the hilt of his gun and then the cockpit hissed open all the way. No quarter was expected, none was given. Three shots ran out and then Bravo 422's superior clone brother was tearing his dying body out of the cockpit.

The last thing he heard was the brisk announcement of Overlord. "All Bravo units be advised, Bravo 422 is down, repeat Bravo 422 is down, over."

* * *

**Replica Prototype Variant: Alpha Twelve**

The Replica clone slid quickly into the hijacked power suit. "Alpha 12 to Alpha 1, secured control of REV5, over."

"Copy, Alpha 7, 11, and 19 are pinned down by an REV5, provide assistance, over." The Replica experienced a brief moment of discomfort as he adjusted the seat. The Alpha clones were slightly bulkier than run of the mill variant sixes, as a result anything designed for Variant Sixes proved to be a tighter fit on Alphas.

Including power suits.

The Alpha left the seat restraints undone as he slid the cockpit shut; he wanted to be able to reach a weapon quickly if he had to, something his obsolete brother had not thought of.

"Alpha 7 to Alpha 1, hard contact with REV5, request assistance, over."

"Copy Alpha 7, hold position, mechanical asset en-route, over."

"Copy, holding-" the rest of Alpha 7's words were lost in a crackle of heavy caliber rounds. The keening of flat-lined vitals filled the air and on Alpha 12's HUD, Alpha 7's icon grayed out.

"Alpha 11 to Alpha 1, Alpha 7 is KIA, over."

"Copy Alpha 11, Alpha 12, give ETA for arrival of mechanical asset, over."

"Copy, ETA five seconds, over." Alpha 12 quickly scanned the targeting data of the tactical HUD. Alpha 11 and 19 were pinned down in the upper floor of a corner bookstore, the REV5 was practically right on top of them. "Opening fire, warning Alpha 11, Danger Close, over."

"Copy, Danger Close, over."

Alpha 12 jockeyed the power armor into a quick dash through the concrete wall of a parking garage. The armored plates burst through it like tissue paper and suddenly he was on the street behind a hostile REV5 raining lead on his clone brethren.

The targeting reticules made a satisfied beep and flashed red.

He fired.

Two rockets hissed out of the shoulder mounted launch tubes. The warheads slammed into the REV5, buckling it, and then the shaped charges detonated. The explosions gutted the cockpit, killing the driver instantly. The driverless suit staggered forward and collapsed against the wall, a pair of blackened holes hissed gently in the falling rain.

"Alpha 12 to Alpha 1, hostile mech neutralized, over."

* * *

**Replica Prototype Variant: Alpha One**

Alpha 1 pressed the com-mike in his helmet, "Copy Alpha 12, stand by for further instruction, over."

Replica clones had a very basic range of emotions, but one that he could feel was satisfaction. Right now Alpha 1 was feeling very, _very_ satisfied. He pulled up the TAC map on his helmet's HUD. Fourteen green dots were scattered across the 3D map of the city block. Alpha 5, 8, and 17 were on recon, keeping tabs on the lumbering power armors. He placed an X by the corner bookstore, marking the location of the downed REV5. Currently there were four REV5s still in the field, and they wouldn't fall for the same hijacking trick twice.

Motion on his map caught his eye. The remaining REV5s had regrouped and were now converging on the trio of Alphas.

"Alpha 11, can you salvage the rocket launchers from the out of commission REV5? Over."

"If Alpha 19 can assist, we could get it done in under a minute, over."

"You have ten seconds, over." The power armors were already half-way there. "All other callsigns, converge on Alpha 11's location, over." A ring of green dots began to close in around the larger scarlet blurs and the cluster of friendly forces.

"Alpha 12 prepare for imminent hard contact with numerically superior forces, keep them off 11 and 19's backs. Over."

* * *

When Alpha 1 said imminent, he meant imminent. Alpha 12 had barely closed the com-link when the first REV5 rounded the bend. He opened up with the chain-guns, spraying 50. Caliber rounds at the metal hull. The first power armor shuddered as metal gave way to anti-material rounds and then Alpha 12 was moving, advancing up the street, drawing their fire away from Alpha 11 and 19. What he was doing wasn't out of nobility, or concern for his brothers, it was simple conditioning. He had been ordered to defend fellow soldiers and that was what he would do.

And then a rocket clipped the left arm of his walker. The explosion rocked the suit, sending it sprawling through the thin wall of an office building, his helmeted head slammed painfully against the reinforced glass of the viewport. Over the roar of the explosion there was the horrendous shriek of twisting metal and a sharp pain sliced up his arm.

"Alpha 12, status, over." Alpha 1's identical voice barked in his ear. Alpha 12 shook his head, trying to clear the daze. Smoke filled his lungs, his helmet filter wasn't working, it must have been knocked loose in the blast. Alarms wailed in his face and a calm female voice coolly explained the extent of the damage to him. Water dripped down from a crack in the viewport, the REV5's HUD flickered erratically.

Something was wrong…why couldn't he feel his left arm?

_Oh_

The rocket attack had crumpled the metal sheath around his limb, crushing it into a jagged vice that sliced right through the combat suit and deep into the bone. Blood leaked from the grisly wound and he could dimly feel the grating of the serrated metal on the shattered bone of his arm. He tried moving the finger of his hand…only a dim ache where the sensation of pain should be.

"Left launcher offline, left chain-gun offline, suit integrity at forty-eight percent, one rocket left… and one hostile eliminated…over."

"Alpha 1, this is Alpha 11, we need fifteen more seconds, over."

"Understood, Alpha 12, fall back, over."

He opened bloodied lips and spoke a single word, the anathema of his programmed existence, denying a direct order.

"No."

There was a moment of stunned silence and then the faintest note of incredulity in Alpha 1's voice, "Alpha 12, fall back. Alpha 2, and 3 will cover the salvage op, your vitals are dropping, you need to be casevaced immediately."

"One…I lost my arm."

Dead silence. People could lose arms, kidneys, hell, even hearts, and get transplants or prosthetics. Clones? Not so lucky.

Armacham had no use for a one-armed clone, and why waste time with a prosthetic when they could just grow a new clone? Even if he survived this, Alpha 12 would be destined for the biological scrapheap, a disappointment to his brothers and to his very DNA. He would die as an invalid, not an elite super-soldier. He would die without being able to finish the mission.

He coughed slightly. Blood splattered the interior of his helmet.

"You send in Alpha 2 and 3 without heavy ordinance, you'll have three dead team members," he said, "I can give them fifteen seconds, One."

_I can complete the mission_ he thought silently, _please, just let me complete the mission._

There was only a brief moment of hesitation, the closest a fellow clone could come to feeling sorrow. "Alpha 2, 3 fall back. Alpha 12…cover Alpha 11 and 19…over."

New strength flooded the wounded clone; he had a purpose again, "Copy Alpha 1…over and out."

_Thank you_

He placed the right arm on the ground and pushed off, righting the walker. Through the smoke and rain he could see the third walker advancing on the two Alphas.

He ran.

The one-armed walker staggered lopsidedly and collided with the lead REV5 just as it fired. The two mechs slammed into the side of a brick-wall, the missile disappeared above the bookstore and slammed into the heavily reinforced walls of the Testing Ground that stretched above them. The driver of the other mech pulled a mechanical arm back for a pulverizing blow.

And Alpha 12 fired his last rocket.

The rocket exploded out of the barrel of the rocket launcher and traversed the inches between the two mechs in a nano-second. Physics took over from there. The explosion in the confined space was like a star going nova. Bright light blinded Alpha 12, the explosive shredded the other mech instantly. The blast shattered the reinforced glass viewport of the Alpha's mech and sent a chunk of metal ripping through armor and into 12's stomach.

The pain cleared his head for a moment. Through the shattered viewport he watched as the last two mechs advanced through the smoke. They ignored the wounded clone and leveled chain guns at a target beyond his view. He could faintly hear them firing, a deep, deep rumble. And then a duo of burning rockets raced across his vision and impacted on the cockpits of the REV5s, destroying them. In the last minutes of his life, the destruction of the last hostiles in this exercise filled him with…content.

Two figures emerged from the smoke, identical twins each with a smoking shoulder-mounted rocket launcher. One of them walked towards him, motions hazy as 12's blood spilled on the power armor. He couldn't hear anything, the close proximity of the blast had rendered him practically deaf, but no words were needed.

Soundlessly, his fellow clone rested the rocket launcher and extended his hand. Alpha 12 weakly pulled his right arm out of the protective sheath of the power-suit's limb and took his brother's hand. His brother gave it a squeeze, expressing satisfaction at a successfully completed mission. Behind his helmet, Alpha 12 gave a satisfied smile with blood flecked teeth.

And on the display screen in the observation room, the life-signs for Replica Prototype Alpha 12 flat-lined.

* * *

"Game over." The man said with a smirk, as the last life-sign for the Bravo team flat-lined. Twenty lightly armed Replica soldiers against six vehicles designed to take down tanks and armored helicopters. End result, total destruction of the vehicles, and only five deaths on Alpha's side. If that had been twenty Delta Force ops, twenty people would have been going home in body-bags.

Mr. Grayson grinned, "And quite an impressive performance it was too." His escort ushered him out of the observation room and into a long, cheerfully lit hallway.

"So, what do you think?"

"I'm thinking of how much it would cost to buy fifteen Replica soldiers."

The other man smiled, "A very reasonable price, I'm sure." He glanced at the silver Rolex on his wrist, "Shall we discuss the details over lunch?"

"So long as you're buying."

The other man chuckled politely.

* * *

_A/N: I know I said I'd update the other stories first…I lied, (Feel free to stone me to death with angry emails). I WILL get the other stories updated as quickly as possible, may a freaky girl in a red dress burn me to a crisp if I don't. It's just that this story's somehow sunk its hooks into me. In the meantime, here's some definitions on the non-canon weapons I made up. _

_HMOD: The Big Brother of the MOD-3 Multi-rocket launcher. More powerful, single-shot only._

_REV5: predecessor to REV6 Power Armor encountered in FEAR. Armed with more conventional weapons, weaker than the REV6. _


	3. New Master

"_They're the best god-damned soldiers I've ever seen, better than anyone I can think of…and war's the only thing they know. When they're not on duty they're training, when they're not training they're sleeping in those damned hi-tech coffins of theirs. They don't have mommas to write to or friends to worry about, they never gripe about their crappy situation, all they want is to do their job and do it well. I don't know if I pity them or envy them but one thing's for sure…they scare the shit out of me."_

_-Samuel Khent, head of security for Grayson estate, retired U.S. Navy SEAL._

**October 26, 2018**

**Project Harbinger Facility**

After a pleasant lunch at an outdoor five star bistro, Mr. Grayson finalized the deal with Mr. Smith, the Armacham representative. It cost less than a summer cottage to buy the lives of fifteen men, and all it took was a quick scrawl of his name on some paperwork.

Two hours later he was in a silver Porche on his way back to the Grayson estate followed by an Armacham truck loaded with fifteen stasis pods. As he drove, Grayson flipped open a phone and speed dialed home. It picked up almost immediately, "Grayson Estate." The voice was a gruff no nonsense voice, the kind that could quail even the most hardened telemarketer.

"Khent, this is Mr. Grayson." He glanced at the comforting sight of the Armacham truck behind him, "You'll never guess what I picked up at the market."

* * *

Alpha 1 woke up approximately two hours after being placed in stasis. He stepped out of the tube and automatically examined his surroundings. He was in a long, dimly lit room, probably underground. He smelled car oil and gasoline and concluded he was in a garage. He looked left and right, noting each of his remaining fourteen brothers. Good, he hadn't lost anyone.

A man stood in front of them, surveying them with a scowl. He was short-Alpha 1 topped him by a good foot and a half- and he had graying hair cropped short. His eyes were dark and his face had several obvious shrapnel scars, now faded white with time. He looked all of them up and down with undisguised disgust.

"Alright, listen up ladies!" He barked suddenly.

Upon hearing his voice, Alpha 1 listened. The man, whoever he was, had secondary command level clearance, his voice had been imprinted in Alpha 1's head as a voice to obey. The change had no doubt taken place while he was asleep in stasis.

The man slowly started to walk up and down the line of clones, talking as he went.

"My name is Samuel Khent. To you test tube babies I am Khent when we are working, or Sarge if you're feeling nostalgic. When you aren't working, feel free to call me whatever you like, assuming those Armacham techs left enough of your brain alone for you to be able to string a couple of cuss words together." He paused and waited for a reaction.

Nothing. The clones remained standing at rigid attention.

"Your new master, Mr. Grayson believes some bullshit about how you're the best of the best. With all due respect to my employer, I disagree. I don't like any of you. It's nothing personnel, but the idea of some Lab Coat who's never been in battle creating genetically engineered soldiers as cannon fodder is disgusting. I would much rather have a team of good 'ol fallible humans that fight for a reason rather than some soulless super freaks that Armacham R & D dredged up out of their mad science labs."

Khent finally stopped pacing and turned to face them. His eyes were narrowed, but he gave a mirthless grin, "Now that the old geriatric's finished spouting off his piece, how about we get some real work done? Your first week here will be spent completely familiarizing yourselves with the layout of this estate. And by familiarize I mean you're going to know every rock, every goddamned sprig of grass like the back of your hand. If I see anyone of you wandering around lost after the first week I will personally kick that clone's ass. While most of you will be supplementing the _human_ guards on the estate, some of you will have the unique honor of baby-sitting duty. And by unique honor I mean you will have drawn the proverbial short straw and landed in a crapper."

* * *

"Paul, have you heard a word I said?"

Paul Grayson paused and turned towards his wife, Bluetooth still implanted in his ear, "I'm sorry, Phil, I'll call you back later." He disconnected the call and looked up, "What?"

His wife was an elegant woman. Even in her early forties, she still possessed her porcelain skin, raven locks, and ice blue eyes. Now she was drawn up, back straight, regal as a queen.

And she was giving him that _look_.

It was perhaps a good thing that Mr. and Mrs. Grayson rarely saw each other during the day, perhaps one of the only reasons why the two were still married. Well that and the children that again, Mr. Grayson rarely saw.

"I was trying to discuss your new…_things_ that you've brought into my house."

_Her house_, last time he checked, it was his name on the bills. "I wasn't aware there was anything to discuss." He said, loosening his tie.

"Paul, I can understand the security cameras and the wall, I never said a word when you allowed Khent to bring in some men as guards, I never said a word when you even let them start carrying _guns_ around, but this?"

Her voice was raising, the queen had found a fault in her subject. It would be easier to ignore if not for the fact that her voice only got like that when she was concerned about her children. While her marital relationship with Paul was cool at best, Mrs. Grayson poured every ounce of love and affection she had on her kids. Unfortunately, she also acted more and more like a mother bear with cubs.

A _rabid_ mother bear.

"There's nothing to discuss" He stated, placing his briefcase on the ground, "I'm simply adding more guards to the payroll."

"Paul, these aren't guards, they're…they're killing machines!"

"And what do you think the human guards do with those guns they carry, Julia? Besides, four guards just aren't enough to cover the whole estate."

"Then hire _more_ guards, _normal _guards. Not some super-soldiers!"

"I don't see the difference." He folded his hands and counted to ten. _Don't lose control Paul._

"The difference, Paul," she said very, very quietly, "Is that I won't let those…_things_ anywhere near my children."

"But you'll let a mongrel like Rawlings near them?" He shot back.

She froze, face pale. "That's not fair Paul."

She was right, that wasn't fair, but damnit, he was tired of having his decisions second-guessed, so he dug the barb in deeper.

"You're lucky Elisa didn't have to go through therapy for that!" He finished with the tie and slapped it down on the bed.

"Khent's talked to me, he's said they'll dig deeper in the background checks next time, be more careful-"

"There won't _be_ a next time, Julia." He answered, "Those _things_ as you call them, are highly trained, one-hundred percent obedient, Replica soldiers. If I tell them not to touch a hair on the children, they won't lift a _goddamned _finger."

"They're not human, Paul! They don't know right from wrong any more than a machine does! What's to stop someone from ordering them to hurt the children?"

"Those machines will take orders only from me and those I say they will take their orders from."

Julia looked at him, and for once there was pity in her eyes, "I really hope you're right about that, Paul, or God help us."

Then she turned and left in a swirl of designer skirts, going off to check on the kids again, no doubt.

Mr. Grayson sighed and rubbed his temple-_women, always overreacting_-sometimes he didn't know his wife at all. Couldn't she see they'd be safer with those "Things" than anyone else? Besides, he was in control, he was their master.

There was no doubt about that.

* * *

A couple hours later, Alpha 1 stood at attention in a small hallway on the upper floor of an extensive mansion, the Grayson Estate as Mr. Grayson called it proudly. He had, to use Khent's term, "drawn the short straw." He'd been selected for bodyguard duty a task Khent seemed to think was undesirable.

Alpha 1 had no opinion on that subject.

Well, perhaps that wasn't so true. He did feel concern that his skills might not be put to their best use. Being assigned as a bodyguard in a relatively quiet area of the world was not the same as being part of a military commando team conducting high risk missions against impossible odds.

But he was being ungrateful. Alpha 1's master had given him and his men a task, Alpha 1's feelings were irrevalent on that matter. He would carry out whatever task was given to him as long as he was ordered to, no matter how boring it was. After all, it was what he had been born to do.

The door at the end of the hall opened and Khent appeared leading a small female by the hand. Alpha 1 analyzed her automatically. Small, juvenile, perhaps ten years old. Dark black hair and light blue eyes, wearing upper class clothing of a dark shirt and jeans She clutched Khent's hand tightly and her gaze seemed unfocused, but other than that, she seemed normal.

Khent led her to Alpha 1 and stopped. "Alright Test-Tube Man, meet your charge, Elisa, this is Alpha 1."

The girl slowly lifted her head and Alpha 1 twitched at the sensation of some sort of…presence brushing against his mind, it was almost like a…voice.

_Will he be nicer than the other one?_

The girl, was she a...

"Hi Al," the little girl said shyly.

* * *

_A/N: It's been a while since I've updated any of my stories. To be honest, story updates will probably be pretty sporadic for a while. I'm not too sure about this chapter but I wanted to lay the ground-works for the Grayson family, the next chapter should have a bit of action in it. Well, until next time._


	4. Settling In

"_I just don't understand how a man as gifted as Paul can be such an idiot. He throws himself into his work at the D.O.D. designing God knows what, and comes home with hundred dollar knick-knacks for the kids. The man doesn't understand Elisa and Kat don't want dresses or electronics. They want a father. It's almost a shame he can't buy them one of those."_

_(Julia Grayson, confiding to a friend about family concerns)_

**October 27th 2018, Grayson Estate**

Alpha 2 wondered if this was what Khent had meant by "short stick".

Katrina Grayson was a seventeen year old female with impractically long brown hair that flowed down to the upper back of her designer dress, green eyes, symmetrical facial features, and a very hostile temperament.

And she had an amazing throwing arm.

_Incoming._

He shifted thirteen degrees to the right. A small tubular object, a cosmetic of some kind, whizzed past his helmeted head. No, Mrs. Katrina was not pleased about being assigned a bodyguard, and she was currently expressing it to the human security guard who'd had the misfortune of delivering Alpha 2 to his new charge.

"Does Father understand that I have a life?"

_Placating gesture, soothing voice with just a hint of desperation_, "I'm sure Mr. Grayson is only concerned with your safety-"

"And that's all he's concerned about! I have a life! I have friends! I have a boyfriend! I don't need some creepy stalker to follow me around everywhere like a demented puppy! What's next, an ankle bracelet, house arrest?"

It was fascinating in a way to watch this physically weaker girl cow the bigger, stronger guard with only a loud voice and murderous gestures.

_Though to be fair to the guard, she had a very loud voice. _

Alpha 2 filed it away in his mind as a textbook case of psychological warfare being utilized to its full effectiveness.

"Can you imagine what they'll say at school?" Her voice dropped and became very quiet with the level of deep anguish and horror only a teenager could manage, "People will think I have…a problem. I mean it's bad enough that I can't talk about Dad's work to my friends, or go anywhere without a chauffer to drive me, now I've got a…a…whatever the hell that thing is!" A manicured finger stabbed at Alpha 2 with righteous indignation.

_Ah, the charge wanted clarification:_

"I am a Replica Clone."

"What?"

Guard and girl gave him twin looks of surprise, finding a temporary truce in their bewilderment. Odd, he didn't expect either one to suffer from hearing impairments, "I am a highly advanced, combat model Replica Clone."

"Great, I've got a robot bodyguard! Does it do laundry too, Thomas?"

"Now Mrs. Grayson." The guard's (Thomas's) voice got stern; recognizing a stiffening resistance Katrina launched a last all-out offensive.

It was an impressive tirade against the human guard, her father, and the general unfairness of the world, but even Alpha 2 recognized it was doomed to failure. Finally after several more objects of cosmetic purpose had been bodily thrown across the room, and some rather descriptive expletives of organs that various people did or did not possess, the last of Katrina's impotent tirade expended itself on the guard's steady reassurances and repeating the simple fact that he was just the messenger.

Having delivered his message and sensing it was relatively safe to do so; the guard retreated out of the room and gently shut the door. Katrina visibly slumped onto her large bed and rubbed her hand against her forehead.

"I am not a robot." Alpha 2 pointed out.

A muffled groan emanated from the girl.

* * *

Elisa Grayson had been five when she'd first realized (in a small childish way, for she had been only five after all), that her ears sometimes picked up words when no words had been said. At first her family seemed not to realize it, her young age acting as a cloak, everything she said being filed under the "child-speak" folder.

But as she grew older, it got harder and harder for her to ignore her strange abilities. She knew what people were feeling, knew what they were thinking. Sometimes, they could hear what she was thinking if she thought it at them. It didn't take long for her to realize that this was not normal for people. That other people couldn't hear thoughts, or speak them. That normal people didn't make candles flare when they got upset, or make things move when they were scared.

Normal people didn't do these things.

Freaks did these things.

And Elisa didn't want to be a freak, so she hid these things, from the people around her, from her family. As far as the household staff were concerned, she was just a strange child with strange peculiarities. Father and Kat were oblivious, both wrapped up in their own all-consuming lives. Mother knew something was wrong but for all her anxiety and protective urges, she could not care for something she didn't know about. Mr. Khent, Father's gruff right hand man suspected, but he kept his strangely disciplined thoughts to himself and treated her no differently because of it.

Elisa could not read thoughts the way people imagine mind-readers to be. In the tv shows, in the comics and movies, mind readers could read thoughts like they were complete sentences, or sift through a person's memories like they were reading a book. But the brain wasn't an open book with every thought and impulse printed neatly on a page. Humans just didn't think in that way. Instead Elisa was constantly bombarded by thoughts, emotions, memories she didn't want a the few times she had gone shopping with Mother at the mall, or eaten with the family at a luxury establishment had been a chaotic cocktail of emotions and thoughts. The minds around her were Rorschachs: swirled together with no comprehension, no order, deafening her to her own thoughts or even worse, making her think those thoughts, those sensations were her thoughts, her sensations.

Some days were better than others. On good days, the background thoughts were reduced to an incessant whisper.

On bad days it was all she could do to just curl into a ball, far from the rest of the household, pillow jammed around her head and praying for silence. Today was not one of the better days.

Elisa knew Mother was scared and angry about something Father had done, she'd picked up on that the moment Father's car pulled into the driveway, followed by a strange white van. As a matter of fact, every one in the household was brimming with nerves and private fears about that thing Father had done. The house practically radiated a sickly dull yellow in her mind's eye that dug rusty nails into her skin and dulled her bones.

It was only as Father was walking through the front door that she sensed the others. Strange minds colored a cool blue-gray of emotionless calm. They were islands of refuge in a raging tempest. Their thoughts, their brain activities ran in a loop she'd never felt before. Almost like they were running through a checklist of things to do again and again, like an idle computer running through background processes but ready at a moment's notice to obey its user's command.

She'd felt the mind of the one standing outside her room. At first the alien nature of its mind had frightened her, made her grip Khent's scarred hand tightly when he led her to meet the man.

She'd never seen a man like that. He wore boots and long pants, an armored vest and padding, much like what Khent's men wore. Khent's men wore them like they were heavy; she'd gleaned enough from their minds when they were on duty to know that they were hot, itchy, cumbersome things to wear.

This man wore it like it was his skin.

The man also wore a helmet, a featureless visor and a blocky breathing filter that crackled with an embedded microphone.

He stood completely still, inhumanely still, and his thoughts were unusually clear, if strange, filled with concepts like line-of-fire, reaction time, how many bullets were in the pistol holstered at his side, words like tactics, strategies, attack and defend came up often in his mind.

_Whether or not Mr. Grayson would permit him to bury anti-tank mines in the front gardens._

Mr. Khent had many names for him, weird names: _Meat Can, Bucket Head, Test Tube Soldier, Superfreak, Alpha One._

_Al_, her mind automatically decided.

She could feel the man's eyes on her; feel his mind examine her with a cold, computer-like calculation. It was frightening at first, that clinical detachment, but she could feel the cold thoughts, not losing their frigidness, but almost being redirected around her rather than at her as the man understood (and filed away in that brain of his) he was to be her caretaker.

She hoped he would be nicer than the last one, and it wasn't until she felt the flare of white surprise that she realized she'd accidentally let that thought slip, escape outside her mind and into his.

She gripped Khent's hand tighter and waited for the man to react like all the others. To stare at her like the freak she was.

It never came.

No sickly green revulsion, no slimy yellow fear, when he looked at her, beneath the calm professionalism, the detachment, there was a strange…reverence, almost…awe. That was the only reason that could have ever compelled Elisa to release the lifeline of Khent's hand.

Those five steps down that softly lit hallway were the longest, hardest steps the world had ever known. She reached up with one child sized hand, hesitantly offering it up towards the man.

Khent watched closely from behind her, ready to step in if the man (meat can in Khent's descriptive thoughts) made one wrong twitch. The clone stared at her hand; mild confusion coloring his thoughts static. Then his hand slowly lifted from its resting place near the sleek black holstered gun. The funny gloves he wore, made of weaves of Kevlar and other synthetics rasped against her palm and she goggled with wide-eyed amazement at how her little hand just disappeared into the black gauntlet of his own limb.

"Hi Al." she said meekly.

"Hello Mrs. Grayson." Al replied gravely.

* * *

"And these are the video feeds for the West grounds." The human waved a cigarette lazily in little circles around his face. The smoke curled up to sizzle against the liquid plasma television screens.

Alpha 16 wondered if the man was defective.

The human guard was seated reclining back in a creaky swivel chair. His combat vest was unzipped at the front, perhaps to relieve the strain on the paunch over his stomach. He had a side-arm holstered at his side, but it looked rarely used. The thinning hair and his sweaty face (overheating from the large deposits of insulating fat around his body) gave the man a sickly air.

The man talked, and as the man talked, 16 thought about how to kill him.

_If the mission was to be loud, fast, and noisy, a simple double tap to the back of the head would suffice. If for some reason the death needed to go unnoticed for an hour or two, Alpha 16 could break the man's flabby neck and leave his body positioned so it still appeared as if he was at his post. _

His murderous thoughts were purely hypothetical. Alpha 16 had no current interest in killing him, it was just how his mind worked. The Replicant been given a mind gene-engineered and extensively conditioned to constantly analyze the environment around him, testing for weaknesses and advantages, for things that could keep him alive in a raging fire-fight and looking out for obstacles that could get him killed.

Right now he was noticing the unzipped vest, the holster wedged just a little too far back for a quick draw, the various magazines that covered one of the vid-screens, the way the man was sweating from the exertions of just talking to him.

Undisciplined, lazy, incompetent…yes, Alpha 16 realized, the guard was defective. Was this why he'd been selected with his fellow brethren? To replace the defective soldiers? Alpha 16 remembered a fellow clone, 38, back when Armacham had first decanted the Alpha Variants. He'd excelled in physical combat, but his marksman skills had been lower than his brothers by a point five percentile. Then one day Three-Eight just hadn't been there.

_The men and women of Quality Control took their job very seriously, nothing less than perfection was permitted for any Armacham product. For products that failed, the official term was "Recycled". It sounded so tidy, so efficient. _

"Hey, Bucket Head, you listening?" Beneath the humor was a rippling current of the unexplained hostility that Sergeant Khent had also possessed.

"Yes." Alpha 16 affirmed. _He'd already memorized all the information five minutes ago._ "Are you aware that there are several blind spots in the camera coverage?"

The man blinked, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The oak tree in the lower grounds covers up three feet of Camera 7's viewing angle." 16 said, indicating the different monitors, "On the western approach, Camera 23 is out of sync with Camera 24, giving a six second window of opportunity for hostiles."

_He'd been staring at that screen for years, and he'd never noticed? If he'd been a Replicant, he would have been recycled a long time ago._

"Hostiles?" the man suddenly laughed, "Christ, Bucket Head, it's not like we're goddamned Fort Knox. Who's going to invade this place, Girl Scouts on a cookie sales?" He snorted, amused at his own humor. "Look, all you got to do is sit here and stare at these monitors, think your big brain can handle that?"

"Yes." He replied automatically, but inside he was surprised at the momentary flicker of irritation as he stared at this defective thing that was to be his superior.

* * *

The whiskey burned like napalm down his throat, like it always did. Khent leaned back in the hard chair and stared mutely at the tiny shot glass cradled in his hand. There was still a little of the amber colored liquid swirling in the cup, still a little liquid fire.

_You're getting too old for this, soldier._

Khent closed his eyes. The same old argument, bubbling back up to the surface, the same God-forsaken debate bouncing around in his skull like an eternal ping-pong match. He downed the rest of the liquid with a perfunctory wince. _I can still limp a fair distance on a good day, still outshoot most my people, I can still train them and if need be, beat the snot out of them, I'm still useful. _

That's what it always came down to, goddamn purpose. As long as he had that, he was a tough old wolf, he was someone to reckon with. Soon as he lost that, he was just another doddering geriatric stammering on about the good old days._ Just another drain on the VA pension._

Truth was he'd been getting a bit long in the tooth for spec ops work anyways. He'd been in his forties when he'd been given that shithole assignment in some godforsaken place in South America. Another idiot who thought that having his hands on a big stockpile of chemical weapons made him a super-power. All it did was make him a big fat target.

The mission had been short and dirty, a half year's worth of intelligence gathering and ops planning culminating in a half-hour of high-octane rush as the SEAL team laid waste to the warlord wannabe's compound. Time and alcohol had dulled the memories slightly but he could still recall the vivid flash of gunfire, the tinny pops of small arms fire and the rattle of submachine guns, gasoline fuelled fires licking in the tropical background and then just a white noise and a flare of pain. He'd woken up two days later in a hospital only to find out that three of his fellow SEALs had been buried and his right leg was riddled with enough shrapnel to set off a metal detector ten feet away.

There'd been options, there were always options. He could have found some way to stay in the military. But he wouldn't have been a SEAL, not with a gimp leg, or even a prosthetic. A cloned limb could have solved everything, but cloning was time-consuming and expensive. Too much hassle for a combat vet in his forties with only a few years until he could no longer serve anyway.

_Yeah, forget about all the goddamn shiny paperweights I got in that box._ He thought sorely, but the bitterness had seeped from that memory a long time ago replaced with an empty resignation. If he'd been the one making the choice, he'd probably have done the same thing.

And to be fair, civilian life hadn't treated him too hard. Mr. Grayson had been very generous, more than Khent deserved. He'd given him a job, a place where he could still feel useful, a purpose. Hell, that alone was worth more than the very generous salary Khent was given, and even if it wasn't quite the excitement the military had provided, he took his job as security chief very seriously,

But how did he protect Mr. Grayson from himself? The man was brilliant at designing weaponry, but there was a reason it was Mrs. Grayson who did the grocery shopping. Mr. Grayson might act suave, but too many people knew he had a weak spot for showy presentations and slick salesmen, as the other day had proved all too painfully.

_Replicant soldiers. _Even the name sounded crappy, like a damn appliance, something you plugged in and threw away when it was all used up. It wasn't guns, fancy armor, enhanced bodies, or genetically ingrained discipline that made a soldier, it was goddamned spirit, soul, humanity, whatever you wanted to label it. These Replicants talked pretty and walked smart, but they had no soul, just a pre-programmed lump of gray matter in their skulls, and you couldn't gene-code or program a soul

_Biological robot army men. _

And in every sci-fi flick Khent had ever been dragged to, there always came a time when the robot underlings rose up and overthrew their human overlords.

* * *

_A/N: Not a whole lot of action in this chapter, I'm just trying to sketch out the personalities of the various characters. For those interested in my other FEAR fic, I'm hoping to have a chapter for that finished and uploaded by the end of next week. As always, sorry that people had to wait so long for this, reviews are hungrily awaited for, and I'm also going to try to start responding to questions people leave in their reviews._


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